


put your emptiness to melody (your awful heart to song)

by BastardSonOfDay (Diana_Raven)



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, M/M, Tumblr Prompt, established feysand but rhycien centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 20:48:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19384399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diana_Raven/pseuds/BastardSonOfDay
Summary: Prompt: Person A tells everyone that they can’t sing, one day when Person B comes home early they hear A sing for the first time and it feels like the whole world stopped, a choir of angels can’t even sing that good they thought to themselves





	put your emptiness to melody (your awful heart to song)

**Author's Note:**

> A prompt from rhysands-highlady on tumblr. Title from To Making Noise (Sing) by Hozier
> 
> I posted this a while ago on tumblr but wasn't by my computer so now I'm fixing it up and posting it here.

Rhysand heard the singing start as soon as the sun began to go down. He settled onto the roof of the House of Wind. He’d left the Steepes early to finish up some work back at the house. These deadlines that Azriel were giving him were really exhausting. He’d stay a night at home and then down to Winter for an hour long appearance for Kallias’ sake, then back up to the Steepes. He’d expected to be back home alone, but clearly that wasn’t the case. Who could have possibly been home?

Nuala and Cerridwen, perhaps. But he’d never heard them sing before. The song was a sea shanty from the mortal realms, he’d heard it when Feyre snuck him back to the mortal realms for their last honeymoon.

Elain was staying with Azriel and Amren in Summer for the installation of the representatives, Cassian and Nesta still in the Steepes, Feyre and Mor in Winter for Viviene’s coronation…

Who was home to sing?

The voice was deep and creamy. The acoustics of the House of Wind made it echo—the resulting sound ethereal. Rhysand’s heart thumped wildly in his chest. He could feel it with every breath. The voice washing over him like a warm summer day.

Rhys walked into the house. He ran a layer of gentle smoke over the house, finding indistinct walls of a mind down in the salon. So Rhys wasn’t hallucinating, good to know. Though he still couldn’t tell who it was.

Rhys’ feet picked up speed as he followed the voice, letting go of the smoke. The sound built up in his belly. Whoever they were, they were a good singer. Probably had lessons, Rhys was sure. No one had a voice that naturally smooth and golden. The song crept into his heart, leaking into his chest and throat. Mother, the voice was beautiful, and the shanty deep and full of sorrow and love-

The sound overwhelmed him. It swelled with the song and reverberated around the House of Wind. Echoing over and over. Rhys couldn’t hear his own footsteps as he follow the sound—almost absently by now.

He came skidding into the kitchen and saw a red head whip around. That… wasn’t right. Stunned and confused expression on his face. The glow which had dimly lit the air around him vanished in a gust.

Whatever crescendo that singing had made rise within Rhys suddenly and irreparably snapped.

Into place.

Something warm and not unfamiliar filled Rhys’ belly, but even so it was utterly surprising.

Could one have two mates? Rhys had never known this happen to anyone before.

“What?” Lucien asked, eyes narrowed. His golden eye looked molten juxtaposed against his eyelashes. How had Rhys never noticed that before?

“You-You were-”

“You heard that?” Lucien looked mortified. _No no no,_ this was the _opposite_ of what Rhys wanted. “I should go.” He said.

"Wait-!”

“Look I was just leaving anyway, I only came to drop off that report for Azriel. I’ll be out of your hair-”

The words blurted out of Rhys’ mouth before he could stop them. “I thought you couldn’t sing. Didn’t you always say that when we were younglings?” There had been so much more Rhys had wanted to say: _I love you, you’re my mate, please stop running,_ all high priorities on the list. But at least now he and sentences were agreeing again because words came tumbling out of his mouth. Just not the right ones. The _important_ ones.

“I can’t.” Lucien interrupted. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

Rhys was stunned to say the least. “Did you  _seriously_ not hear that?”

“My hearing’s just fine, thank you. Fine enough to know someone mocking me-”

“I’m  _not_ mocking you. Do you genuinely not consider your singing  _good_?” No larger tragedy had ever crossed Rhys’ ears.

“My siblings are better. Always have been.” Rhys had heard a few of the Vanserra sons sing, and while their voices were good none of them had ever been that… ethereal- that earth-quaking! (Then again, he had only ever heard them sing drunk. But the point remained.)

“You’re a good singer. A really, really good singer. Whoever told you that you weren’t are wrong.” Rhys said dumbly.

Lucien scowled at him, as if he didn’t know what to make of that compliment. His cheeks softly brushed with pink. The face shot to Rhys’ heart, shattering it. “You  _are_  mocking me, aren’t you? Prick.” Lucien snarled. Before Rhys could say anything else Lucien stormed out.

 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @bastardsonofday!


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